Boys Night Out
by cactusnell
Summary: Greg and John have woman problems, and drag Sherlock along to drown their sorrows. What happens when he decides he wants the same kind of problems. Sherlolly


John Watson had spent late Saturday afternoon at his former residence at 221B Baker Street. He had done this not because he was craving the company of his slightly sociopathic best friend, Sherlock Holmes, but because he had to get out of the flat he shared with the love of his life, the mother of his child, and the bane of his existence. All married couples have their ups and downs, and, John had to admit, since he had come to terms with Mary's shooting his best friend, their life contained considerably more of the former than the later. But sometimes even happy couples needed to spend some time apart, especially when one was a trained assassin.

So John was now spending the afternoon with Sherlock, adding onto his blog while the detective smashed some frozen fingers and toes into the kitchen table, looking over occasionally to survey the damage and thank the lord that he no longer shared living quarters with the man. That was when he received a call from another good friend, DI Greg Lestrade. It seemed that Greg had just broken up with another girlfriend, making it three women in just under three months, rivalling even John's record. He was not taking it well, and was calling on John to accompany him on a campaign to drown his sorrows. John was definitely in, and decided that Sherlock needed to be included. This was easier said than done.

"Come on, Sherlock, we're going to meet Greg at the pub."

"Why do I need to meet some stranger at a pub, John?"

"Not a stranger, mate, Lestrade. He broke up with a girlfriend, I'm fighting with my wife, we need to go get pissed!"

"I have neither a girlfriend nor a wife. Why do I need to accompany you?"

"Because you have neither girlfriend nor a wife, and you are about to spend Saturday night smashing toesicles into tiny shards of frozen flesh. And you probably do not want to be here as they start to thaw. Or when Mrs. Hudson finds out. So, wash your hands, put on your coat, and let's go!"

"Point taken, John." Sherlock headed for the bathroom, soon returned, donned his Belstaff, and joined his friend.

By the time they joined Lestrade at the pub he was already two beers ahead of them. John ordered them each two lagers in order to catch up, much over Sherlock's objections. It had to be said that Sherlock Holmes was not a drinker. He was quite the lightweight, and tended to be over cautious when indulging in alcohol of any kind, and was certainly outclassed in this department by his two friends.

Greg started the conversation with, "Here's to women!" He then quickly polished off his drink and ordered another.

"I thought you were down on women, mate?"

"I am. I just wanted to start off on a positive note, so as to not feel too guilty later on."

"So, why the breakup?"

"Always the same thing, mate. She wanted a commitment, John. A bloody 'commitment'! We've been seeing each other for all of three weeks. I thought asking her out for next weekend was enough of a commitment. She wants to get a flat together! And, according to her, I'm the one with a problem. What's your deal?"

"Mary clips her toenails on the couch while watching telly. I go in for a cuddle, and one of the damn things hits me in the eye. Damned near blinded me!"

"Perhaps a slight exaggeration, John…" Sherlock tried to be the voice of reason, but John glared at him.

"I think she sharpens them, too. The way the gouge at the skin of my legs at night. Then she launches them at my face during my favorite show." Now he looked once again at his best friend. "And you're not allowed to make fun of any problems we have until you have a few of your own!"

"Not bloody likely!" Greg muttered as he continued his quest for the perfect buzz.

"And how would we know that, Greg. Has this git ever had a manly discussion with you about the opposite sex?"

Once again Greg muttered, "Not bloody likely!"

The three men stood at the bar, downing drink after drink, with John and Greg making sure that Sherlock Holmes kept pace, much to his detriment. Having spent much of the evening discussing two particular women, and women in general, with little or no input from the consulting detective, John finally figured that the proper balance of camaraderie and inhibition suppression had been reached. He then had the courage to ask the question, or questions, he had never dared of his best friend.

"So, Sherlock, what exactly is your deal?"

"My deal, John? Please be more explicit!"

"Now, Sherlock, you are my best friend…"

"Please, John, I have already fulfilled my obligations as best man quite a while ago. If you intend to divorce Mary over an errant toenail, and I am not sure that is a wise decision given her previous occupation, I refuse to be best man at another of your weddings. It's Greg's turn…"

"Are you gay, Sherlock?"

"Must I also point out that I categorically refuse to be your bride…"

"Just answer the question. It makes no difference, of course, but…"

"Then why ask?"

"Curiosity? Prurient interest? I know Mrs. Hudson always believed you were…"

"Mrs. Hudson believed we were a couple, John, but that did not make it so!"

"So, not gay?"

"No."

Greg was looking on with interest. "You should have asked me, John. I've known him longer, remember…"

"Gavin, must I remind you that certain juvenile records…"

"Just how drunk are you, Sherlock. I'm not talking juvenile…"

Sherlock was now spluttering, Greg was laughing, and John held up his hands for peace. "Barring any unfortunate disclosure of confidential police records, may I now move on to my next question?"

"Go one, mate, I'm dying to hear how you top that one?" Greg snickered.

"Sherlock, one hears rumors, gossip…"

"No, John, I am decidedly not a virgin!"

"Well, how the bloody hell was I supposed to know that? You've never expressed any interest. There certainly was no parade of loose woman flouncing in and out of the flat…"

"Of course there was, John, but they were all yours!" Sherlock looked at his friend, beginning to realize where this was heading. "John, I am a relatively young, healthy male, with all the needs which that implies. I handle these needs in my own way, and will continue to do so. Without the locker room chatter!"

"But nobody, Sherlock? Nobody? Haven't you ever thought of settling down…"

"And having my face assaulted by flying toenails?" Sherlock laughed a bit, but John was surprised by his next admission. "Of course I think of marriage and children. You and Mary have proved to me that such a relationship can be beneficial, despite Graham's disastrous attempts. And I realize now that I must be even more inebriated than I thought, to have made such an confesion!"

"So, who do you have in mind…"

"I never said I had anyone particular in mind, John."

"Janine?"

"That was for a case! And she called me Sherl! And can you imagine Mycroft answering to Mike at family gatherings?"

"Irene Adler?"

"Ah, the Woman? She was quite an experience, I must say. But not one I want to repeat."

"You're kidding? You and a dominatrix?" John was getting a mental image of the encounter, and it was not something he wanted to see.

Seeing the distasteful look on his friend's face, Sherlock quickly added, "Relax, John, she was very appreciative of my saving her life, and was more than up for a little role reversal. No, the Woman was attractive and intelligent enough, but she lacked kindness, loyalty, generosity. She was me in a female body. Not interested. Haven't you heard that old adage, 'opposites attract'?"

The three gentlemen seemed to be ending the evening on a down note. Well, maybe not all three of them. Greg had seemingly forgotten his most recent disappointment, and was currently chatting up an attractive woman at the far end of the bar. John was mulling over the possibility that a flying toenail or two was a small price to pay for a lovely wife, a beautiful daughter, and a happy home. And Sherlock was just drunk enough to give serious consideration to his long repressed thoughts about his future.

It was just after one o'clock in the morning when Molly Hooper was awakened by a pounding at her front door. She could only imagine who it could be, except for the fact that Sherlock Holmes never knocked, he simply picked the lock. This fact caused her some trepidation as she made her way from her warm bed to the front door, opening it cautiously. Sherlock was kneeling in front of the door, eye level with her door lock. When Molly swung the door open, his set of picks were left to dangle from the lock, as he remained in the hallway looking stunned.

"Molly, you look taller!"

"You're kneeling on the floor, Sherlock."

Sherlock Holmes stumbled to his feet, weaving quite noticeably. "Molly, are you quite alright? You seem to be wobbling a bit."

"Yes, well, Sherlock, you woke me from a sound sleep. Perhaps I'm a little unsteady. Why don't you help me." And with that, she took hold of his arm and led him into the flat.

"Sherlock, have you been drinking?" Molly asked, quite unnecessarily.

"Yes, Dr. Hooper, I have been. And, in the spirit of _in vino veritas _I now wish to tell you something."

"Yes?"

"Yes, what, Molly?"

"You wanted to tell me something?"

"Oh. Do you mind if I take off my clothes?"

"Do you mean your coat, Sherlock?" Molly giggled, a sound which the great detective had to admit that he had always adored.

"That will do for a start," He replied as he allowed his Belstaff to slide to the floor. "Molly, I've been thinking a lot about John and Mary. They're happy, you know? And Claire is adorable. She has big brown eyes, just like you!" Molly smiled. Sherlock realized he liked making Molly smile. _I must do that more often_, he thought! "I'm her godfather, you know!"

"Yes, Sherlock, I know. I'm her godmother, remember?"

He now kicked off his shoes and removed his suit jacket. When he started to unbutton his shirt, Molly became a bit concerned. "What are you doing, Sherlock?"

"Getting ready for bed. You can't expect me to sleep in my clothes, can you?"

Molly Hooper was now trying her best to suppress giggles at the very attractive, but very inebriated man now stripping in her sitting room. "Sherlock, you said you had to tell me something?"

"Didn't I tell you yet?"

'No, not yet."

"Molly Hooper, I want to sleep with you. 'Sleep' being a euphemism for having sex with you, of course!" Sherlock said, very proud of himself for finally getting the words out. So proud of himself that he puffed out his chest, threw himself off balance, and careened into his pathologist. "Easy there, Molly. You should be more careful!"

"So, you want to sleep with me, eh? After all this time? Why?"

"I want to have my own Mary, er, a Molly. A home. A brown-eyed baby. Maybe two. Or three. At least one more than John. I'm very competitive, you know."

"Yes, Sherlock, I know!"

"We could make very pretty babies, Molly. And smart, too!" Sherlock winked at her. "So, Molly, may I?"

"May you what, Sherlock?"

"Sleep with you?"

"Of course you may, you git! I'm just not sure if you can! At least not in your condition at the moment." Molly was laughing outright now.

"I'm willing to give it a try if you are!" were the last coherent words out of the detective's mouth before he woke to sunlight streaming out of the window and into his bloodshot eyes in the morning.

Molly Hooper awoke as Sherlock Holmes tried to stifle a moan. He was wrapped around her like a small child around his mother's knees. "Feeling a little under the weather, are we?" she said teasingly.

Sherlock disentangled himself and dragged his arse to the bathroom. She could hear him running water and rifling through her medicine chest. Molly was greatly relieved when he returned a few minutes later, his teeth freshly brushed. He settled back into the bed, once again wrapping his arms around his pathologist as she snuggled into his chest.

"Sherlock?"

"Um?"

"I'm glad you came back. I was half afraid you'd do a bunk on me."

"Molly, love, please don't shout. My head is killing me."

Molly giggled, and Sherlock winced as she snuggled even further into his chest. "I really like just lying here in your arms. It feels so good!" she sighed, trying not to make too much noise due to his delicate condition.

"If you think this feels good, wait till you see what I can do once the paracetamol kicks in?"

Molly waited impatiently.


End file.
